Mightier Than The Sword
by WrongFromGo
Summary: Al/Rachel HEAVY angst/drama/horror. Pierce has been dipping his pen into Al's personal inkwell, and Al is a bit peeved.  I am awful at summaries. Trust me, rated for MANY reasons. Please read inner disclaimer/warning.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Mightier Than The Sword

Genre: Fanfiction- The Hollows

Rating: I rate everything NC-17 OR HIGHER just to be safe. I'm not your normal little cookie, and it comes out in ink like poison on the page.

Pairing: Rachel/Al- And some really disturbing Al/Pierce. Not a happy little trees story- I really dislike Pierce, and want him out of the way for future concepts.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the words rattling around my twisted little brain. All recognizable characters/plot points belong to Kim Harrison. There may or may not be spoilers- I don't give spoiler warnings by piece or chapter, so if you haven't read all published books in the series, you may want to skip anything I write.

**WARNINGS: I am hardwired for tragic, erotic, sometimes frighteningly dark story-telling. I seldom write anything that is less than an NC-17, never anything less than an R. MOST of my work is even heavier on any/all of the following material- sex consensual, coerced and completely nonconsensual, blood/gore, bizarre magical concepts, a stockpile of torture and horror developed from childhood, a strong background in BDSM and other kinky things, profanity, non-canon plotlines, complete disregard for social norms and niceties, and a strongly purple tint to my prose. I write any and all imaginable sexual pairings- and a few that I'm pretty sure are illegal, or would be if they were possible on this planet. Occasionally I'm in a humorous mood and Cthulu kin make an appearance. I'm also addicted to feedback, the more I get, the more I write.**

"No class, tonight, itchy-witch."

Al stood in my graveyard, not looking at me, the wind of the ever-after mussing his carefully coiffed brown hair, his eyes completely hidden behind a new set of shades. They were black as pitch, reflecting the moon-silvered headstones back in shades of red.

"Couldn't you have called?" I asked peevishly. "I could have made a date or something."

Al turned to face me, finally, and I felt cold fear wash over me for no explicable reason. Something had changed, and menace poured out of him in a black wave. He shimmered in the haze of ever-after.

"I don't feel like teaching tonight," he ground out, his accent clipped and dangerous. "Unless you'd like a differnt kind of lesson than you can find in books."

I took a step backward, involuntarily, my heart in my throat. He growled, low and vicious, and one long-fingered hand snapped out, catching my wrist. His skin was bare, shocking in its heat, covered in a thousand twisting scars. I shrieked as I felt the fragile bones inside my skin grinding.

Distantly I heard Ivy's startled shout and Jenks' high-pitched whistle as Al dragged me close enough to let the wind that always blew in the ever-after lift my curls. His mouth took mine, hard lips and sharp teeth ravaging me, forcing my lips open, filling me with the choking taste of burnt amber and ozone. His anger was a living, breathing thing, raging through me in a searing blaze of ley line energy I scrambled to try and spindle, even as he ripped my control into ragged shreds. I gasped as he pulled away, cursing in some gutterel language that made my skin crawl.

"Tell me, Rachel Marianna Morgan." The demon was breathing hard and deep, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he glared at me over the top of his shades. "Did you take him to your bed just to get him killed? Or just to see how much more of my manhood you could take away from me?"

I gaped at him, fear making my heart stutter, my lungs freeze. Time slowed, etching the details of Al's face- the fury and agony in his gaze, the strain carved into his handsome mask- into the space behind my eyes. Wordlessly, I shook my head, unable to answer. His face twisted as he jerked his head up, throwing me backwards away from him. My ass hit dirt as he straightened his back. His eyes were hidden again behing those dark glasses, his face cold and impassive as the graves behind him.

"Go, before I lose more of my control than I already have, my beautiful little traitoress." His eyes went passed me, and savage joy brought a dangerous smile to his face. "It seems my wayward familiar is coming to your rescue." He laughed, bitter and triumphant, and let the line take him

"Pierce- no!" I screamed futilely, even as the black witch charged past me, into the vanishing line, chasing the demon. Straight to his death. I scrambled to my feet as Ivy slid to a stop beside me, her scent wrapping around me. Vampire incense, strong as her love, filled my nostrils as she spun me to face her.

"What in Tink's contractual hell is going on?" Jenks was shouting, while Ivy swept her aura-black eyes over me from head to toe. Her pupils were still ringed with the thinnest edge of brown as she fought to control her nature. I stuttered, swaying, and trying to turn back towards the church.

"Al- he knows. Pierce and I. He's going to kill Pierce."

"Oh, fairy farts," Jenks moaned. "This is so not good."

Algliarept was not himself. He paced around his kitchen in a wide circle, dangerous and graceful as a hunting cat. His smoldering eyes were locked on the black witch in the center of the room, bound hand and foot on the stone table.

"Gordian... Nathaniel... Pierce." He drew the name out into a sibilant hiss. "I do believe I'll be in need of a new familiar." He paced closer, his hands clenching and unclenching in rage. He'd known the witch would follow. It was an ego thing. Like fucking Rachel.

"Traitor." He growled, and the table trembled, flipping itself upright so that Pierce was looking him in the eye. "She. Is. Mine."

"Mistress Witch?" the other man laughed, comtempt in every word. "I swan she didn't seem so last night, screaming my name as she was."

Al's head swam, his scowl deepening. Visions throbbed behind his eyes, his twitchy, itchy, elegant witch, stretched beneath the former Council member. Her cream-pale skin yielding and slick under the witch's fingers, his sneering lips tracing the forbidden paths of her desires...

Pierce spat out blood, his cheek split and already purpling. He winced as the demon backhanded him again with a hand that had grown black claws. He felt the distant chil as his shirt was shredded across his chest, and the trickles of warmth and pain as blood spilled down his ribs.

It was going to be a long, hard night.

"Did he hurt you?"" Ivy's voice was silk, sifting through the soft night like ashes. "All we saw..."

"Was him throwing me out of a line. I know." I was steadying with every step. "I need my gun. And Bis. I have to go after them."

"Oh hell, no." Ivy stopped in mid-stride, grabbing my arm. "You are getting your ass on sanctified ground and staying there until we figure out what to do about the demon."

"Ivy- this is my fault. MY fault. Al is going to kill Pierce, because- because I can't keep my pants on."

"True enough." Blunt and cold, Ivy met my panicked gaze with her own, her eyes filling up with opalescent darkness. "But Pierce can handle himself. Rachel, it's not worth it. He's not worth it."

"I'm going." My eyes begged her to understand as I pulled my arm free of Ivy's grasp and jogged the last few steps to the door. I dove for the new red splatgun nestled into my copperpots under the counter, calling for Bis. The young gargoyle dropped through the ceiling, landing beside me with a muffled thump.

"Ms. Rachel?"

I turned and gathered the startled gargoyle into my arms, feeling the lines sing through me as he expanded my awareness. I closed my eyes against the vertigo, and braced myself against the pain.

"Bis," I croaked, feeling my throat tighten with fear and guilt. "I need a favor..."

Al's kitchen was dark and cold. I hit the ground painfully as we dropped out of the line, gasping for air. My head throbbed with the line's energy, my skin felt tight and scorched. Bis whimpered and scrambled off my shoulders as I crouched on the floor, retching. He scuffled across the floor and returned, cupping water in his scaled palms. I drank gratefully.

All the arguments and threats from my friends hadn't been able to hold me at the church. I had finally threatened to hit both of them with sleepy-time charms just to get Ivy and Jenks to back off. I'd left them sitting in the kitchen, Ivy as cold and still as a statue, and Jenks screaming and cursing in rage. But I'd had to come. This was my fault, and I had to fix it.

"Ms. Rachel?" Bis' whisper was terrifed. "I think there's a problem." I lifted my head, disoriented by the darkness, and tried to reach out with the other senses I could still rely on. Everything reeked of burnt amber and broken stone, and under those scents, a smell like hot metal. I rose carefully, feeling my way forward with my toes. Almost immediately I stumbled, tripping over something that clattered and rolled away. I took a deep breath and reoriented myself. Moving carefully, I tripped over bits and pieces of wreckage until I found Al's fireplace. Sweeping my hand gingerly through the mess on the floor, I found a few pieces of his carefully hoarded wood and thanked whatever gods look after stupid, suicidal witches.

Tapping into the spindled energy in my thoughts, I pushed out the spell Ceri had taught me, forcing a flame to sparkle to life between my hands. I carefully fed the sticks into the blaze and turned to survey the damage.

Devastation was more accurate. All the carefully stored curses in the cupboards had been flung to the floor, broken glass and bottles sparkling dimly in the shadows. The enormous table where I spent so much time was in splinters of stone on the ground. The walls were missing bricks, and covered in scorch marks. A puddle of what looked like blood gleamed near the stone face that acted as a doorway.

"Bis." The young gargoyle huddled near my feet, his eyes wide and scared. "Go find Treble. Stay with her. Tell her I said so, and if she gives you any problems, she'll answer to Al."

"Ms. Rachel?"

"Bis, go." I stepped onto the screaming woman's face, checking the load in my splat gun. He whimpered as he scrambled into the shadows of the chimney.

"Touching." Al's voice, dark and thick, oozed over me from behind. I spun, ready to take him down, but he simply looked at me from the furthest edge of the flickering light. Shards of metal and glass crunched under his boots as he moved towards me. His coat was gone, and his shirt singed, splattered with blood. His disheveled hair spilled around his shoulders. His eyes were hidden completely behind those damned shades that gave me nothing but my own reflection.

"You came to rescue your _lover,_" he spat at me. "How very sweet."

"I came to stop you from killing him, Al. That's all." He smirked- not his usual infuriating, teasing smirk, but something that scared me even more. He raised one hand and shoved back his hair from his face, leaving a crimson smear on his ruddy forehead.

"And what, Rachel Marianna Morgan, do you propose to do to stop me?" He tossed back the tattered lace at his cuffs and I saw what he carried in his other hand. I frowned, trying to make sense of Al carrying around a pen in a situation like this. His eyes followed mine, and he burst into broken laughter. He lifted the pen, catching the firelight on the edge of the sharp metal nib.

"Al, what's so funny?" I edged closer, my splat gun firmly aimed at his face. The demon sounded almost hysterical, gasping with laughter that sounded more like screaming. "And where is Pierce?"

The thought had never crossed my mind that I might be too late. Al liked to play with his food. When he lifted his head, I felt a quiver of doubt in the pit of my stomach.

"Put down that little toy, witch, and I'll take you to him." His sensuous mouth twisted into a vicious grin, showing the gleam of white teeth. "I won't even charge you for the trip."

"Liar." I took a step back from him as his face contorted in rage.

"YOU DARE CALL ME A LIAR?" He howled in fury, stalking towards me. I retreated, not daring to look behind me and having to slide my feet backward one at a time to avoid tripping. "Demons. Do. Not. Lie. That's your job, my litle bitch." He was closer now, moving faster than I could, his strained face hellish in the red-gold light.

My finger tightened on the trigger, but I still hesitated. He stopped, close enough that I could have reached out and poked him with the barrel of the splat gun. I could smell him, burnt amber and ozone, blood and salt. He leaned into my gun, his breath hissing out.

"I dare you. Pull the trigger. I'll throw you to Newt so fast you'll die before you catch your breath. And you'll never know what happened to your little friend."

"Al..." I hated that my voice shook. I hated that my hand was beginning to shake. He growled in satisfaction and swept his arm up, knocking my gun out of my hand and into the rubble on the floor. He wrapped his long fingers around my bruised wrist, tracing the marks he had put there even as he dragged me in against his body.

Panicking, I started to struggle, and he growled again, spinning me in a dancelike move that trapped me- his chest at my back, his arms wrapped over mine like some sort of macabre hug. I felt the tiniest prick in my side and froze, realizing I had nearly stabbed myself on that damned pen.

Without warning, we jumped.

I'd only been in the demon mall a handful of times. It made no sense to me, as the world shimmered back into reality, why we were here. Al shoved me away from him, sending me to my knees on the paving stones, and I saw why. Lashed to a stone cross in the center of the square, battered and broken and bloody, was the purpose of my trip.

"Pierce. Oh God, Pierce!"

Al strode past me, his boots echoing oddly on the stones. I realized that it was completely silent. Demons lounged against shop fronts, sat at outdoor tables sipping coffee or liquor, their impassive faces following my teacher as he fisted a hand in Pierce's hair and dragged his head up.

"Hello, familiar," he said pleasantly. "I brought you a visitor."

Pierce coughed, thin blood trickling down his chin, as he rolled his head back against his arm. His eyes were dull and blank as he looked at me. I stumbled to my feet and towards him, only to be stopped when Al caught my arms, dragging them behind me.

"Do you see?" he hissed in my ear, his breath warm against my neck. "Look, itchy-witch. Look and tell me what you see."

I blinked, trying to clear my vision. All I could see was a ruined, red mess where there used to be a man. Al grumbled in frustration and frog-marched me forward, close enough to smell blood and bile, the details of the damage leaping into clear relief.

Words. Pierce had been ripped apart by words, words like crawling things scribbled across his skin. I could only make out a few of them- it looked like his entire body had been wreathed in bloody script, from neck to toes. Apart from a blackened bruise on his cheek and the blood on his mouth, his face was untouched. He stared at me, his face completely blank, no recognition in his slack features.

"What did you do?" I breathed.

"The pen is mightier than the sword, love." Al chuckled, his fingers digging into my skin. "Didn't you learn that in school? Can't you see the poetic justice here? LOOK!" He flung me forward, away from him, into Pierce.

My knees cracked painfully into the base of the cross. I pushed my hair back from my face, staring up at Pierce's body. The words blurred again, and I blinked, bringing them back into focus. Slowly, pieces started to come together, a word here, a phrase there.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest as the words sank in, heat rushing to fill my face. Every secret, every touch, every kiss, every erotic, wicked thing Pierce and I had done together was inscribed onto his body. I recognized the cramped, slanting hand. I sobbed for breath, filled with shame and pain. My fault, this was all my fault.

"Oh, not all of it." Al crouched beside me. His rage seemed to have faded somewhat. "He knew the price for touching you. I warned him often enough."

"You..."

"I. I own him. I own YOU. And no one takes from me." The demon rose, the pen clenched in his fist so tightly that his scars stood out in white relief against the dark skin. The jumping muscle was back in his cheek. "And now, I can kill him. And teach you the lesson you should have had long ago, student."

"No!" I swung at him, and he went misty, dodging sideways to avoid the blow. He reformed behind the cross, the wicked silver edge of his pen poised against Pierce's throat. The black witch flinched and groaned.

"Al, wait. What about Newt? What will she do if Pierce can't guard me anymore? She'll take me away from you." I tried to reason with the demon, edging towards him slowly, my hands spread harmlessly.

"Oh, no, my little itchy-witch. Because I'm through waiting." He traced a finger over Pierce's ribs, following the spikes and curves of the words. "I ripped every memory he had from his head. The way you bend, the taste of your skin. Your voice, when it goes hoarse with screams."

He lifted his head, his lips thinned with anger. "Everything, my little wanton. Everything he saw and touched and tasted. It's all in my head now. Newt will have no reason to claim you. Because I'll have you where you belong, chained to my bed, underneath me." His face softened, his voice dropped to a whisper that sounded like despair. "Beside me, above me, around me. Mine, Rachel Marianna Morgan, mine for the keeping."

"You can't. You don't have enough marks to take my soul."

"Don't I? I'm sure I can change that." His fingers tightened on the pen, and a bead of blood appeared in Pierce's skin. "What do you think? Shall I wite the end of this little story on your lover's throat?"

"Al, please. Please don't do this." I was crying again, cursing myself. I wasn't willing to trade my soul for the black witch's life, and I was out of options. "Please, just let him go. Sell him, do something else. I can't let you kill him."

"What do you have worth his life, eh my itchy-witch? I'll take another mark for it, I suppose." Which would give him three, enough to claim my soul, enough to drag me into the ever-after and keep me here.

"I'll give you another night of the week."

"Not enough, not even enough for me to give him back his tiny little mind. Not enough to atone for this insult, student. A demon has his pride."

"Two more."

"Only if you spend them in my bed, and even then it's not enough. A mark for his life. And you willing in my bed for his mind restored."

I shivered. I was on dangerous ground. Al wasn't in a bargaining mood. And any misstep was going to land me straight in Newt's tender care. The air around me shifted, and I flinched as the devil in question decided to make an appearance.

"Gally, dear, what is going on here?" Newt, androgynous and scary as all the demons in the mall combined, strode towards us, her robes billowing. "Why are you making a mess of your familiar?"

"He stole from me," Al snapped. "It is still within my rights to kill or sell an unsatisfactory familiar, is it not?"

"Of course," Newt agreed pleasantly. I stayed very still. She hadn't acknowledged me yet- if I stayed still she might not even notice me. Newt was funny like that. "Have you received any offers yet?"

"I haven't asked for any." Al's fingers crept around Pierce's throat, drawing a panicked moan from the other man. "I want him dead."

"Why?" Newt sounded like a curious child as she walked her fingers across Pierce's chest, licking the blood from her hand like a cat with cream. Her bald head gleamed in the dim light and what would have been her eyebrows drew together. "What did he steal?"

I took a deep breath and prepared to do something really, really stupid.

"Me," I said stepping forward. "He stole me."

Stupid, stupid witch. Al growled, flinging himself away from the man he wanted to tear apart with his own two hands, his blood boiling with rage. She was going to ruin everything. She had already ruined everything.

"Traitorous little bitch," he snarled. His hands were fisted in her her red curls, her green eyes wide and terrified as he roared down at her. "If all you wanted was power and danger between your legs I. WAS. RIGHT. HERE!" He shook her, feeling her lithe body tremble and twist against his. His cock hardened, and he bit back a frustrated groan, fighting the urge to grind his hips into hers, to drive her as mad with fury and desire as he was. He wanted her to fight back, so he had an excuse to take her, to claim in front of all the assembled demons here, mark her irrevocably as his.

Newt's laughter, rough and raucous, filtered through the pulse beating in his ears.

"Gally, let her go." The female demon put a hand on his shoulder, and pain flooded through him, dropping him to his knees. Rachel came with him, tumbled against his body by the grip he had in her hair. She writhed, gasping as raw line energy poured from Newt to him, from him to her. She retched out a word, spindling it as fast as she could, her breath coming in open-mouthed pants.

Agonized, he flung her away like a broken toy, her body sprawled boneless on the stones. Newt released him and he rose to his feet with all the dignity he could muster, sweeping his hair back from his face, straightening his ruined cuffs.

"As you wish," he snarled. He looked at the last surviving hope of his race, insane as she was, and barely bit back a growl. "What do you suggest, Newt?"

"Give him to me." Newt's gaze lingered on the witch, her black eyes dispassionate as she followed the snaking words across his body. "Give him to me, and I'll let you keep your little student."

"I want more than that for his life." He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. Newt eyed him askance and he smirked. "I want my conservatory back. I'll throw his mind in for free."

"Fair." Newt's eyes narrowed. "But who will watch your little witch? I warned you..."

"Do you want her as well?" Al pretended to think about it, tapping a bloody finger against his teeth. "I don't really want to sell..."

"Al." Rachel had managed to get to her hands and knees, looking up at him through her tangled hair. "Don't."

"And what do I get out of this, hmmm? Tell me, what are you willing to bargain?" Turning his back on Newt, even though the skin between his shoulderblades crawled, he pulled her to her feet. "Another mark."

"No," Rachel shook her head. "No more marks."

"Someone has to keep an eye on you. Easier to do if you're here with me."

"Indeed." Newt paced around them both, something like amusement crossing her narrow face. "Rachel Marianna Morgan, I believe I have a solution."

Al closed his eyes. He wasn't normally so stupid. Drawing Newt's attention, losing his temper with a familiar. Allowing a student to betray him. He opened his eyes and grinned down at his lovely redheaded witch with malice.

"Do tell," he purred. Newt's fingers caressed his cheek and he swallowed back a shudder of fear.

"She's safe enough in daylight. I say she spends her nights with you, so you can keep an eye on her. She'll learn faster, too."

"But what about my runs?" Stupid girl. She never could keep her mouth shut.

"We will deal with those. I will accompany you." Al snickered. "We can negotiate on my fee."

"No! This isn't fair." Newt growled, and Rachel shuddered, looking steadily at Al. "I don't agree to this."

"Then I will give you to Newt, and sell her my marks as well as the one I bought back for you. Three marks to a demon, itchy-witch. Are you so eager to lose your soul?" He dragged her close, his lips brushing her ear.

"I will do it, Rachel. As much as I want you, I will not die to protect you from Newt. Agree, or damn us all." He felt her take a shaky breath, then another.

"I agree," she whispered.

"Louder, itchy-witch. Let them hear you agree to be mine, let them feel the conviction of this contract."

"I agree!" She screamed it at him, her eyes full of fury and tears. "Damn you to hell, I agree."

"Done!" Newt said with triumph. She touched Pierce's arm and tilted her head at Algliarept. "I'll expect you to come by and fix him as soon as you're done settling up with your... student." She grinned wolfishly. "I never thought to see you smitten again, Gally. It suits you." She vanished without so much as a ripple in the air, taking the bloody witch with her.

Al shuddered in relief. He looked at Rachel over the rim of his shades, his anger still a throbbing, tumultuous song in his blood.

"Now to deal with you, my dear."

**Yep, I'm going to leave you hanging, for now. I've pounded this out, edited and rewritten it in less than 24hours. It's still rough as sandpaper, but I have a concept to run with now. I know where I'm going- although I live in the kind of reality where my muse occasionally hijacks my brain. Expect things to get more intense from here.**

**If you liked it- hated it- have thoughts/corrections/suggestions- leave a comment. If you want to see what to expect further down the line in terms of intensity- take a look at my personal LJ and 21st Century Cure. **


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Mightier Than The Sword- 2

Genre: Fanfiction- The Hollows

Rating: I rate everything NC-17 OR HIGHER just to be safe. I'm not your normal little cookie, and it comes out in ink like poison on the page.

Pairing: Rachel/Al

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the words rattling around my twisted little brain. All recognizable characters/plot points belong to Kim Harrison. There may or may not be spoilers- I don't give spoiler warnings by piece or chapter, so if you haven't read all published books in the series, you may want to skip anything I write.

****

WARNINGS: I am hardwired for tragic, erotic, sometimes frighteningly dark story-telling. I seldom write anything that is less than an NC-17, never anything less than an R. MOST of my work is even heavier on any/all of the following material- sex consensual, coerced and completely nonconsensual, blood/gore, bizarre magical concepts, a stockpile of torture and horror developed from childhood, a strong background in BDSM and other kinky things, profanity, non-canon plotlines, complete disregard for social norms and niceties, and a strongly purple tint to my prose. I write any and all imaginable sexual pairings- and a few that I'm pretty sure are illegal, or would be if they were possible on this planet. Occasionally I'm in a humorous mood and Cthulu kin make an appearance. I'm also addicted to feedback, the more I get, the more I write.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't even scream out my frustration as Al dragged me into the line and spilled me back out onto the shattered stone of his kitchen floor. I lay on the ground, gasping for air as sharp bits of rumble dug into my back and hips.

"I would advise you to get up the floor, Rachel." My demon folded his arms across his chest, his face still tight and hard. "Unless you want me to join you."

I scrambled backwards on my hands and feet, still trying to draw breath, my eyes involuntarily going to the front of his doeskin breeches. I did not want to find out if that was all padding, or if the painfully obvious bulge was proof of just how demonic Al really was. He growled, and took a step towards me. I cringed, waiting for the blow that never came.

"Get. Up." I felt the heat from his hands as he snatched at my t-shirt, dragging me to my feet. I stumbled, one ankle twisting painfully enough that I saw sparkles at the edge of my vision. I was trembling, and he made a low sound before releasing me so abruptly I nearly fell again.

"Find a broom. Clean this mess up. I won't have my kitchen looking like some hobo lives here."

Al sounded almost normal, peeved and arrogant, as he turned on his heel and walked away from me. I gaped, completely disoriented by his sudden change of mood, and he shot me a quick glance over his shoulder as he stepped onto the screaming woman's face.

"Hurry up, student. You only have about eight hours before the sun rises."

Al stalked across his bedroom, stripping his clothes off methodically as he moved. He left them where they fell- except for the boots he had kicked off immediately into the alcove that served as a nominal closet. His skin was itching, dried blood caked under his fingernails and flaking off his wrists. He turned on the water in his shower without bothering with the lights, not wanting to see any more horrors tonight.

No amount of blood and pain could wash away the imaes burned into his mind. He was furiously aroused, and sickened by every memory he had ripped out of the black witch's head. He was haunted, he thought coldly. Haunted or cursed- there wasn't much to choose between the two- by the rememebred feel of Rachel's skin under someone else's hands, someone else's mouth. He growled, scrubbing his bloody hands over his face, trying to wipe out the imagery. He could taste copper and redwood on his skin, and nearly gagged.

He stepped under the needling spray of the shower and braced his palms against the wall,

letting the hot water sluice over his head and down his back in the dark, his prick aching and throbbing with every heartbeat. The tile felt cool against his hands, and he rested his forehead against it gratefully, trying to still the aching behind his tired eyes. He felt _old, _dammit, old and used up and bruised inside.

Why her? She was nothing, comparatively speaking, special. So her blood could kindle demon magic. So he wanted to fuck her. Neither of those little facts were worth the humiliation of this evening. He had lost his dignity and acted like some common street brawler, all over some redheaded bint who he would probably burn to cinders the first time he buried his cock in her.

The cock in question leaped in response to his quickened pulse. Damn her. _Damn her._

There was no way he could face her in this condition. There was a limit, evben to his control. He growled, turning to lean back against the wall, and took the problem in hand. His fingers wrapped tightly around his erection, squeezing impatiently against the straining flesh. He circled the base with the forefinger and thumb of one hand, holding the skin taut as he stroked with the other hand. Brisk, almost painful strokes, torturing the sensitive flesh with the calloused pads of his fingers, the roughness of his palm. It almost hurt, and he hissed between his teeth, relishing the pain that cleared his head.

He let go of his cock abruptly, cursing under his breath. He stroked his thumb across the engorged head and thought of how Rachel's mouth would look wrapped around it, those pink lips wet and swollen, gleaming with the first pearly drops of come and his own saliva- a shudder ran through him that had nothing to do with the water and he slid his hand along himself, fantasizing about his itchy-witch bound and naked, kneeling at his feet in tears.

A low groan found its way from his lips as he thought about her, stretched wanton and screaming on his sheets, of the sweet scent of her hair and the smooth, warm skin of her breasts and belly. He wondered what she would look like wrapped from nipples to knees with thin red welts, how she would twist and dance beneath a whip. His balls tightened and tingled and he gasped as his climax spilled in a scalding wave over his fingers, onto the porcelain to be rinsed away down the drain. His hand moved half-heartedly as his cock as it softened, milking the last dregs of the fantasy into an empty void of exhaustion.

He scrubbed the rest of his body roughly, scouring away the blood and dirt from his exertions, and stepped out of the shower. Wrapping himself in a towel, he slumped into the armchair before his fireplace, reaching for the bottle of brandy on the table nearby. It was going to be a very, very long night.

****

This one is short and, well, not sweet. But progressive. My muse decided to hijack me into three other stories, including an original piece, and so Al and his little hanmg-ups have been simmering away on the back burner. I have another chapter or three roughed out, but I'm struggling to tone them down.

As I said- no promises on the whole non-con thing. Al really wants to do naughty, naughty things to lil miss. I'm bargaining with him to tone it down.

Also, there may or may not be Trench implications in the future. It's nibbling at the edges of my brain. We'll see where it goes.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Mightier Than The Sword- 3

Genre: Fanfiction- The Hollows

Rating: I rate everything NC-17 OR HIGHER just to be safe. I'm not your normal little cookie, and it comes out in ink like poison on the page.

Pairing: Rachel/Al

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the words rattling around my twisted little brain. All recognizable characters/plot points belong to Kim Harrison. There may or may not be spoilers- I don't give spoiler warnings by piece or chapter, so if you haven't read all published books in the series, you may want to skip anything I write.

****

WARNINGS: I am hardwired for tragic, erotic, sometimes frighteningly dark story-telling. I seldom write anything that is less than an NC-17, never anything less than an R. MOST of my work is even heavier on any/all of the following material- sex consensual, coerced and completely nonconsensual, blood/gore, bizarre magical concepts, a stockpile of torture and horror developed from childhood, a strong background in BDSM and other kinky things, profanity, non-canon plotlines, complete disregard for social norms and niceties, and a strongly purple tint to my prose. I write any and all imaginable sexual pairings- and a few that I'm pretty sure are illegal, or would be if they were possible on this planet. Occasionally I'm in a humorous mood and Cthulu kin make an appearance. I'm also addicted to feedback, the more I get, the more I write.

Al staggered out of the line, dumping me unceremoniously in the predawn gloom of my graveyard. It was bitterly cold, and I shivered as I tried to rub some warmth back into my sore arms. Cleaning up the kitchen had left me a mass of bruised muscles and aching joints. Not that the demon seemed to care.

Instead Al stood in my graveyard, looking at the grey sky as though he'd never seen it before. He had gotten rid of the shades, and his goat-slitted eyes were unfocused, so dark they were more maroon than red. Considering the strength of the alcoholic haze surrounding him, I wasn't entirely surprised. Common sense told me to turn and walk away, to get back into my church and figure out how to get out of this mess. Instead I lingered, watching the demon stare at the sky, confusion and resentment tangled together in my mind.

"Snow," he said needlessly, putting a hand out to catch a few of the tiny white flecks that floated down from the leaden clouds. They hovered on his ruddy palm for a moment before vanishing. "I had forgotten about snow."

"Shouldn't you be heading back?" I asked. Something about Al standing in my yard and getting nostalgic over snow made me nervous. I was exhausted, worn to the bone, but I couldn't stand the thought of leaving him unsupervised.

"The sun isn't up yet, itchy witch." Al glanced to the east. "And I want to watch the snow." He almost giggled, tilting his face up to the sky again and sticking out his tongue. Great. I had a snockered demon in my yard, a sort of boyfriend who was as good as dead, and I still had to explain to my two best friends why I was going to be spending every night with a demon.

Could this day get any worse?

I mentally kicked myself as soon as I thought it. The screen door slammed, and a rush of feet across the frozen grass made me turn. Ivy was in the lead, her eyes dilated black and her movements the slow, silky glide of a vampire pulling a serious aura. I was too numb to do more than sigh, too worn out to even be afraid. Ceri traveled along behind her, wrapped in heavy green velvet, her bulging stomach not affecting her graceful movements. And behind her...

"Oh, Tink's pink panties," I grumbled. Trent Kalamack. His eyes were wide and his face pale as he surveyed the demon now spinning in slow circles behind me, but he was there, every inch of his pretty little elf-cookie self screaming arrogance and privilege. Just what I needed- to remind my demon that I still had a familiar running around loose.

"Rachel." Ceri frowned at me, then at Al. "Oh good grief. What did you do to Gally?"

"What did I do?" I exploded. "I didn't do a damned thing. HE'S the one who decided to go all primordial male on me!" Al made a low, thoughtful sound behind me.

"Not quite so primordial," he pointed out with the lofty arrogance of the very, very drunk. "After all, you still haven't baked me a... cake. Have you, dove?" His long fingers ran up the nape of my neck and twisted painfully in my hair. "Hello, Ceridwen Merriam Dulciate. And Trenton Aloyious Kalamack, too. What a pretty pair you make."

Ceri folded her hands over her stomach and gazed at Al serenely. "Algaliarept. You are foxed."

"A trifle, perhaps." Al was sniffing my curls, his warmth seeping through my back. I fought the urge to lean back against him, it was cold, and the heat felt good. I was so tired, all I wanted to do was sleep. He snorted in disgust and let go of me, stepping back. "I'll leave Rachel to... explain things."

I turned enough to glare at him, and he gave me a mocking bow.

"Until sundown, itchy witch." He paused, and his eyes narrowed. "Don't make me come looking for you. I will be very put out if I have to buy a curse from Newt to desanctify your church again."

I swayed, feeling his threat in the marrow of my bones. He turned to the east and sighed. "Enjoy the sun, Rachel," he said with quiet menace, and vanished into the line.

"Well," Ceri said practically. "It could have been worse." She plunked another cup of steaming tea in front of me and settled herself at the kitchen table. Her green eyes were calm as she stirred honey into her own brew and lifted the cup. Steam wreathed her lovely face, and I just stared at her numbly.

"Oh, of course." Trent shot the cuffs of his shirt and leaned back against the counter. "She could have agreed to this willingly, bargaining with a demon, apprenticing herself to him- oh, wait. That is exactly what you did do, Morgan."

So much for the truce. I eyed Trent wearily and rested my chin on my hand. I was too tired and depressed to fight.

"That's enough, Trenton." Ceri's voice held a cold reproof. "Rachel has saved your life enough times that should she decide to take it from you for your churlishness, I would not object."

"Shut up, both of you." Ivy turned from her computer, her eyes still dangerously dark and her voice low and wickedly sensual. "Rachel, we need to hide you."

"Ivy." Ceri's voice turned the living vampire further in her chair. "Rachel made an agreement. If she reneges, Algaliarept will take her soul, and nothing anyone can do will save her."

"We can kill him."

"And Newt will claim me. Ivy, Ceri's right." I rubbed a hand across my face and groaned. "He's promised that I can stay on this side of the lines between sunrise and sunset. I can still do my runs- he said we can negotiate." I deliberately left out the part about him going on the runs with me. "And at least I can't be hunted by demons on that side of the lines."

"I don't like it." Jenks has been uncharacteristically silent during the discussion. "But Tink's contractual hell. What choice do we have?"

I looked up at the pixy, seated on the ladle about the countertop. His wings were slumped, sad grey sparkles drifting slowly off of them. Losing Matalina had been hard on him. I felt a rush of guilt for this new trouble I had brought on us all.

"Jenks..."

"It's not your fault Rachel." The pixy gave me a smile that held a flash of his usual teasing. "You just attract really awful men."

"Just like a pixy, to understate the case," Trent murmured snidely. I half-wished Jenks would pix him, but instead the little man dropped to Trent's shoulder.

"Look, Kalamack, either shut up or put up. One of those marks Rachel is dragging around is because of you. You want to take it back?"

Trent brushed at the pixy, sending him buzzing angrily into the air. He beautiful face closed down into cold lines, and he straightened his coat.

"I'll wait in the car, Ceri." He gave Ivy a brisk nod, and turned on his heel, not bothering to even acknowledge me. Jenks made a rude sound as his departing back.

"Toadstool." Jenks made a rude gesture that would have normally made me smile, but today it just seemed childish and immature.

I sighed, and forced myself to my feet. I was going to take a shower, and go to bed. The sun, such as it was, had risen and I was exhausted. I was tired of fighting with the people I loved.

"I'm going to bed. I don't care what you guys think, I did the best I could." Tears threatened to spill over my eyelids and I blinked furiously. "And honestly, I'm thinking that hanging out with Al might be less stress than constantly dancing around everyone else's feelings."

Al waited patiently by the kneeling angel. His anger was mostly gone, leaving only cold calculation in its wake. He watched Rachel come across the frosted garden, clutching a bundle of books and God only knew what else to her chest. She looked miserable, which suited him just fine. Her adolescent gargoyle was huddled inside the hood of her jacket, his red eyes blinking out nervously.

She didn't even raise her head to look at him as she stepped onto the barren earth of the unconsecrated grave. He surveyed her for a moment, then shrugged. He pulled her in against his side and stepped into the line.

He dropped the witch off in the kitchen and headed straight for his library. He didn't want to be around her. If he was honest with himself- which he generally was, he had no intention of ending up like Newt- he didn't trust himself to be around his twitchy little bitch. She was depressed, and it would be far too much fun to break her down even further.

Unfortunately, it was bad form to shatter your student's mind. He stretched his fingers inside his gloves, and grimaced. Putting one witch a day back together was his absolute limit. He poured himself a stiff drink and opened a book, determined to ignore his redheaded problem as long as demonically possible. He took a small swallow of brandy, and promptly immersed himself in his reading.

I grumbled as I chopped herbs. Al had left me alone in the kitchen with a stack of curses to prepare and a list of chores, exactly like some sort of naughty teenager with homework to catch up on. Bis had scampered over to the hearth, basking in the warmth of the glowing fire, and promptly curled up in a ball, looking like just another lump of stone.

Luckily, Ivy had insisted on sending me her iPod, along with various other supplies. I shuffled through her music until I found something Pre-Turn and rockish, turned it up loud, and settled into the rhythm of chopping ingredients and simmering spells. It wasn't so different from earth magic- and whatever I was twisting smelled better than most of the things Al usually had me brewing. Typically, he hadn't even told me what it was- with my luck it was something that would explode and make another mess to clean up.

I was grinding rose petals and swaying along to the smoky beat of the most recent song when the words finally registered with me.

____

Don't be aroused by my confession  
Unless you don't give a good goddamn about redemption

  


I yelped and yanked the earbuds out, dropping them on the table and glaring at them. I fumbled in the pockets of my hooded sweatshirt, searching for the evil device so I could shut it off. I could still hear the husky, sensual voice of the singer whispering through the room. Bis' ears twitched and I groaned in embarrassment.

I know Christ is comin', and so am I  
And you would too if this sexy devil caught your eye

"Thinking of me, were we, itchy witch?" Al purred from just behind me. I spun around and almost thwacked my nose into his chin. He smirked, leaning further into my personal space to snag the abandoned headphones. He lifted them to his ear, cocking his head and grinning. "Hmmm... I definitely approve."

"I don't!" Face flaming, I finally found the damned device and shut it off. He snagged it from my hand and chuckled as he fitted the earbuds under into his ears. Oscar Wilde goes hipster. I shook my head at the oddity of the sight.

"I'll just have to listen alone, then." He stepped back and moved along the table, critically inspecting my preparations. "Did you remember to bruise the rosemary before chopping it?"

I rolled my eyes, but I was relieved. Al nitpicking over curses was not Al being... whatever he had been last night.

"Yes, I remembered to bruise the rosemary before I chopped it. And to filter the lemon juice, and to grind the dried rose petals to powder. What exactly am I making, again?"

"Nothing important." Al sniffed the asfoetida critically and shrugged. "Something I would like to keep in the cabinet, that's all." He was fiddling with the music player, apparently looking for something he liked as he strolled back to the 'door.'

"Carry on, then. And if you have time- why not be a dear and make us some dinner, hmm?" He dismissed me with a wave and left me in a wash of burnt amber.

Al liked Rachel's little music machine. With the headphones in and a book in his lap, he was perfectly content to sit and plot. He reviewed and discarded plans one by one, letting the music wash over him in a soothing wave. A frontal assault would never win with his itchy witch. He had to be both sneaky and subtle- two of his favorite things. He thumbed through the selection of music until he found something he liked.

Mortals. They were such interesting creatures, loud and brash and utterly insane. They hated so fiercely, and tried to destroy those things that they couldn't become. He wondered when Rachel would realize she was no longer one of them, and that as long as she tried to live among them, she was one of those things that they had to destroy. She was a demon- witch born, to be sure, but utterly and completely one of them. He almost purred in satisfaction when he thought about it. He hadn't made her what she was, but he had every intention of being the only one who shaped what she would become.

And of course there was the added benefit of impregnating a female who wasn't utterly batshit insane. He steepled his fingers under his chin, staring into space and pondering how he could bring that plan to fruition. All females wanted children, didn't they? It was a biological perogative. It went with frilly curtains and ridiculous shoes and worrying about the size of their arse. His eyes narrowed as he thought about his erstwhile familiar possibly jeopardizing his right to be Rachel's mate. Part of him wished he had simply killed the witch, rather than dragging out the torment long enough to catch Newt's attention.

His reverie was interrupted by Rachel's appearance in his library. She looked utterly charming, disheveled, with bits of herbs caught in her hair and a smudge of what might have been flour on her cheek.

"Ah, there you are." He rose slowly, letting his gaze travel from the top of her riotous head down to the frayed hems of her faded jeans. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever finish with supper." He bit back a grin as he heard her teeth grinding together.

"It's done, and so are the curses. I even invoked them." Without elaborating, she spun on her heel and vanished in a ripple of air, leaving him to follow. He did so with alacrity, leasantly surprised when he arrived in the kitchen. Everything was clean, and the smell of something sweet still lingered in the air. He glanced at the row of bottles on the worktable, noting that all the curses were the appropriate cobalt blue shade.

Rachel was already seated near the hearth, a steaming plate in front of her, and another sitting at the place across from hers. He made a show of selecting a bottle of wine from the rack in the cupboard, bringing it and two glasses to the table. She ignored him as he opened it and poured a small amount of the golden liquid into his glass.

"Do I smell... cake?" He laughed at her annoyed huff and tasted the wine. It was appropriately sweet and fruity, mellowing to a crisp finish that lingered pleasantly on the tongue. He poured her a glass and set it beside her plate, taking his own glass and the bottle around the table. He looked approvingly at the slices of roasted chicken, spiced roasted potatoes and the small salad that awaited him.

"Ivy sent me with groceries," Rachel mumbled, spearing a cherry tomato on her fork and glaring at it. "She was worried you wouldn't feed me."

"Remind me to send your moody little girlfriend a gift," Al said graciously. "I have some particularly fine amber earbobs. Only a minor curse attached, and I'm sure she won't mind being swarmed by butterflies every new moon." He sliced a piece of chicken and chewed it thoughtfully. Despite the faint taste of burnt amber that got into everything, it was delicious. He swallowed and made an attempt at keeping the peace. "Thank you for making a lovely meal. I rather expected something less inspired."

"I have to eat too," Rachel reminded him ungraciously. She flushed angrily and reached for her wine glass, drinking with a haste that was an insult to the vintage. He sat back in amusement and continued his meal, allowing his unhappy student to dictate the silence of the table. It gave him ample oppurtunity to study her, and decide on an opening move to their game. He refilled her glass and his own.

"So, Rachel," he said, settling back into his chair contentedly after they had finished. He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the swirl of firelight in the liquid depths. "Now that we've gotten the necessities out of the way, why don't we take advantage of this extra time we have together?"

Wary, the redhead edged away from the table, gathering the plates and utensils and whisking them away. From the relative safety of the sink she turned to look at him, her green eyes full of trepidation and curiousity.

"What- exactly- do you have in mind, Al? And what's it going to cost me?"

He smiled, his ruddy face positively glowing with goodwill. _Good girl_, he thought approvingly._ Always know the price before you buy._

"Consider the bill paid by that delicious meal. Ask me anything, Rachel. Anything at all- and I promise to answer honestly."

****

Awww... another cliffhanger. Actually, I'm just exhausted, and I figured this section was long enough. Don't worry. I have plans, and they aren't in the least bit nice. Look for an update in a couple of days.

ETA I have no idea why my formatting for this fic is consistently screwing up, but I will change it in the future so it stays coherent.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Mightier Than The Sword- 4

Genre: Fanfiction- The Hollows

Rating: I rate everything NC-17 OR HIGHER just to be safe. I'm not your normal little cookie, and it comes out in ink like poison on the page.

Pairing: Rachel/Al

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the words rattling around my twisted little brain. All recognizable characters/plot points belong to Kim Harrison. There may or may not be spoilers- I don't give spoiler warnings by piece or chapter, so if you haven't read all published books in the series, you may want to skip anything I write.

****

WARNINGS: I am hardwired for tragic, erotic, sometimes frighteningly dark story-telling. I seldom write anything that is less than an NC-17, never anything less than an R. MOST of my work is even heavier on any/all of the following material- sex consensual, coerced and completely nonconsensual, blood/gore, bizarre magical concepts, a stockpile of torture and horror developed from childhood, a strong background in BDSM and other kinky things, profanity, non-canon plotlines, complete disregard for social norms and niceties, and a strongly purple tint to my prose. I write any and all imaginable sexual pairings- and a few that I'm pretty sure are illegal, or would be if they were possible on this planet. Occasionally I'm in a humorous mood and Cthulu kin make an appearance. I'm also addicted to feedback, the more I get, the more I write.

A/N: I am changing formats. To avoid confusion, every time the POV switches it will say "RPOV" or "APOV" which naturally means Rachel's POV or Al's POV. Hope that helps avoid future problems, folks.

RPOV:

I focused on the dishes in front of me, my mind racing. There were a million questions I could ask, a million answers I could have. But Al had only promised one, and I didn't trust him not to take the first words out of my mouth as the question I wanted answered. I squeezed the rag in my hand, watching the soap lather ooze over my fingers.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Al's voice was rich and dark, his breath tickling my temple. I hated it when he snuck up on me, and forced myself to not jump out of my skin. He moved to the side and stripped off his black leather gloves, folding back his lacy cuffs and pushing them up his arms. I watched in morbid fascination as he reached out and snagged a dish towel from the rack above the sink.

Whistling softly under his breath, he reached for one of the plates and started drying, the tendons in his wrists flexing and twisting. I was mesmerized by the action, my hands falling limply into the sink full of soapy water. He dried what I washed, and raised an eyebrow at me.

"Are you going to finish those?" he asked, nodding towards the pots and pans still waiting to be scrubbed.

"Uhm..." I stumbled for words, finally just nodding and scouring a saucepan with a vengance. He stacked and put away the china, disappearing from my side only to return with our wine glasses, freshly filled. He set mine off to the side and sipped as he watched me work, his face unreadable. I blushed and fumbled a knife into the water.

"Dammit." I fished around under the suds for the blade, and naturally found it with my thumb. "Ow! Bloody _hell_!" I lifted my injured hand from the water and winced at the amount of blood that welled from the wound.

"Careful, twitchy witch." Al reached out and took my hand, turning it to examine the cut. "I don't want to have to stich you up."

"It's not that bad," I replied. He made a humming sound and brought my thumb to his face, his warm mouth wrapped around the digit before I could snatch it back. I gasped, the heat of his tongue sweeping over the gash sending a shudder of fear straight through me. His ridiculously thick eyelashes fluttered closed for a moment, then lifted. His eyes met mine, dark and full of the kind of knowledge he hadn't earned yet- at least not from me.

I snatched my hand away, the question suddenly crystal clear in my mind. My heart was racing, my chest feeling tight as I struggled for enough air.

"I know my question, Algaliarept." I hated the breathy, high pitch of my voice, the trepidation that was so very obvious.

"Do tell." Al took another swallow of wine, his eyes still smoldering as he rolled the taste of the grapes and my blood in his mouth. "I'm all ears."

"How do I keep you from taking my soul?"

APOV:

It was a good question. Better than he had expected, worse than he could have ever imagined. The answer rang through him like a bell. He answered reluctantly, the words heavy as lead weights on his tongue, compelled by the geas that forced all demons to tell the truth.

"You steal mine first, Rachel Marianna Morgan."

The air around them seemed to shimmer for a moment, settling on their skin like a silken weight. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes in annoyance.

"You steal my soul first, bind me to you, and make me yours. Otherwise, my itchy-witch, I will own everything you are."

He took a deep breath and stepped back, putting distance between them, his face utterly impassive. He gave her a tight smile and gathered his wineglass, turning on his heel. It was either that or rip her beautiful, treacherous little head riht off her skinny shoulders, and he didn't want to deal with the paperwork on the latter option.

"I believe you have this well in hand. I'll be in my library- bring dessert in when you're done, there's a love."

He made a graceful exit from the kitchen. Only when he was alone in the sanctity of his library did he give in to his emotion, resting his head against the cool, shining wood of the paneled walls and letting anger and despair wash through him.

Stupid, stupid demons and their stupid, stupid deals. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and reordered his thoughts. He hadn't survived this long by allowing mistakes to cripple him. It just meant that he would have to change his plans.

Lost in thought, he settled back into his chair and began plotting.

****

Flame away. This is all you're getting until I negogiate a new deal with Al. He's not going to allow me to do what I was going to do. In fact, he has very definite ideas about the next chapter being the last one- I just trashed 3,000 words, my entire next chapter and a half, because he decided that wasn't happening. (Don't worry, it's going to appear in another form, somewhere.) I may have to owe him a mark or two when this is over, if I don't let him have his own wicked way with this fic.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Mightier Than The Sword- Not an update!

So... I have been MIA for a bit. Since Christmas I have had a bunch of really awful stuff happen health and personal wise, and I've just been flat out unable to write. I'm confined to the couch for a day or two at the moment, so I will try to finish the next chapter or two. The muse and everything else has been kind of bitchy and chaotic. When I have had a spare minute, I have been busting ass to try and get a book finished and ready to sell on Amazon.

If you're REALLY bored, you can find some of my other stories here on , or you can toddle over to literotica if you are over 18 and read my stuff there- my author name is FallingToFly.

I will try to get back in the saddle and going strong. I can't make promises, but I WILL try harder. Just send good thoughts my direction, and if you see my muse wandering about, smack that bitch back over here.


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